Tick, Tock
by TheUnsigned
Summary: Tick: A young man watches as his friends are corrupted in the name of science. Tock: A young woman by the name of Chell adjusts to life after Aperture's reign of terror comes to an end.
1. Chapter 1  Tick

**Title**: Tick-Tock

**Rating**: T for now

**Warnings/Pairings**: Chell/Wheatley, Cave/Caroline, Spoilers for Portal 2.

**Summary**: Tick: A young man watches as his friends are corrupted in the name of science. Tock: A young woman by the name of Chell brings down the tyrant who destroyed Aperture Science; several hundred years years after it would do any good.

**Chapter 1: Tick**

"Look at that!"

Jonathan Cole glared daggers as his friend Brent's accompanying arm jostle very nearly cost him a precariously balanced cafeteria tray of tea and scones. The lazy git didn't even have the courtesy to help him carry a few things. "I might be able to if you'd considered lending me a hand once in a while." He grumbled, gratefully setting his burden down in the midst of the small study group that had assembled in the University's union for a cram session. Straightening, he followed the pointing and snickering of his fellows to a table in the darkest back corner of the common hall.

The two-person table was tucked away in the far shadows with its sole occupant scooted as far back into the lowlight as he could manage, evidently hoping to escape notice. With his scruffy hair and lanky six-foot-something-very-tall frame, the man could not be more conspicuous if he was wearing a bright red sweater, which as it so happened, he was.

"Wheatley." Brent hissed, a predatory smile making its way across his face. "Oh I hope he's read today's paper. Maybe he'd finally just leave the class now that the love of his life is officially married."

"Oh, Cave! Teach me Science and then you can help me find my arsehole!" Another boy in the group adopted a high falsetto, evidently meant to be a impression of the unfortunate Wheatley. "I'm too stupid to do it on my own!"

"Teach me the science of buggering another man up the-"

"Leave him alone would you, mate? It's not his fault he's rubbish at Science!" Cole cut into the beastly ribbing his so-called friends were taking. He knew he had a reputation to think of but the words were out of his mouth before he could think of the repercussions of showing support for Wheatley Harris.

"Thinking of joining him at the bottom of the class then Cole? Or do you want to be his private tutor? Go on, maybe the two of you can move to America and work for Cave Johnston together. As test subjects!"

The table burst into a renewed outbreak of snickering. Jonathan watched the lone student hunch up against the jeering he could no doubt hear in the small room with a renewed measure of sympathy.

To the amazement of all with himself included, he snatched up two of the teas and the whole plate of scones and marched himself over to the far back table.

No laughter followed him as the remainder of the group realized that they were now short one snack and they fell to squabbling over who would have to buy the replacement.

"Ah…sorry about them…" John muttered, shoving the plate and one of the Styrofoam cups across the table. "They're just stressed with their revisions."

"I…I, yes yes of course. Ah, is that – is that for me? How much do I owe you?"

John nodded. "Sure, and ah, don't bother. Get me next time. I don't suppose you'd like a partner for studying, would you?"

"Really? Hah, you want my input? MY Input?"

Wheatley had never quite fit in at Oxford. The more polite students would have called him 'tenacious'. The less polite chose the term 'moronic'. He was the son of a wealthy man. 'Duke' Harris had a small amount of land and the title to match and thus had pulled many strings including donating the Harris hall of residence to admit Wheatley to the prestigious institution. Most of his class hated him and John would have agreed had the other boy been coasting on his family's name and wealth. The problem was: Wheatley loved science and tried his best but he was positively terrible at it himself.

John tried to hide his grimace. "Sure."

"Oh. You meant it _that_ way." Wheatley heaved a defeated sounding sigh. "I know, I'm rubbish at this."

"I don't think so. Well, not totally. You just…go for the messiest solution." John frowned and glanced back at his old revisions group which evidently had forgotten his dramatic exit. He lowered his voice nonetheless. "For example, I agree with you about…her."

It took Wheatley a moment to divine as to whom he was referring to but a second later he'd careened all the upper half of his lanky frame over the desk in a conspirator's posture toward John, sloshing the tea over his textbook and the counter. "Caroline?" he all but whispered as he blotted the stain with a grubby tissue. "Aww, she's a creeper mate. I don't doubt that one's a nasty piece of work. Ah, and if anyone knows a thing or two about a nasty piece of work, it's me. You know, because…because of my dad and all."

John was well aware that the clumsy gangling Wheatley was not lacking in female appeal, but a great deal of that had more to do with his father's title and wealth rather than any particular charm on the young man's part. "I just don't understand how almost overnight she was involved in every inner working of that company. Then, Johnson gets sick and he up and marries his precious assistant, offering her full control of Aperture. Mighty suspicious if you ask me."

"You actually agree with me? You're not just having a go?"

"Look, we both want to work for Aperture for the same reasons. Cave Johnson is one of the most brilliant minds of our day. He's a humanitarian, helping those less fortunate while still contributing to Science. One can't help but notice all the problems started when Caroline came into the picture."

Wheatley was uncharacteristically silent, his eyes darting in all directions as though he expected Aperture representatives to come breaking down the door any moment. Finally, he settled on staring at his hands. "I really need to pass this test. Really, really badly. Like so bad I might die or something if I don't. Well, maybe not dying for real, but something. Something bad. Maybe throwing up."

Marveling at how Wheatley seemed to manage to ramble even when he was clearly miserable, John gave him a light punch on the arm. "Don't worry, we'll both graduate."

In reply, Wheatley unzipped his cardigan and pulled out a thick fold of paper from a hidden inside pocket. "Your friend..er study group was right. I did apply to be a test subject at Aperture. I know my grades aren't on par for a proper position."

Cole reached out his hand and took the papers, a practiced academic's eye sweeping the agreements and clauses. "It's pretty solid. Lots of conditions here…" he trailed off, catching Wheatley's gaze and holding it.

"It's all I'm good for."

"Hey mate, don't say that."

"Don't patronize me."

"I'm not. See here? Opportunity for promotion." Cole neglected to state the addendum that said 'if you live."

"Yeah."

Cole put a hand on his classmate's shoulder. "I promise, I'll get you through."

* * *

><p>Cole found Wheatley to be a charming friend and an even better student. While his work was never A-grade material he attacked it with a passion that the best students in the class could not match. His old study group tried to dissuade his friendship with the class misfit, but Cole had found genuine companionship<p>

"Look. We admire your dedication to the bloke, but you can give it up tomorrow. We're all going out to the pub, drop the loser and come with!" Brent had his head halfway into Cole's door and for once the young man could not decide on an excuse.

"Alright."

"Knew we hadn't lost you yet!"

When eighteen hundred rolled around, Cole turned in his paper a half hour ahead of the rest of the class. He cast a glance back at Wheatley who was still bent over his final, his head in his hand. Cole put his fingers in his pocket, crossing them as he left the hall.

A few drinks later and Cole was about ready to forget Wheatley. He wheeled around and looked into the smartly dressed chest of a man just a head taller than himself, cursing himself mentally for indulging in alcohol.

"Mr John Cole?" the man asked.

"Yeah?"

"We're pleased to offer you a job at Aperture Science."

John Cole's mouth dropped open. His vision didn't swim, his gaze never wavered but he couldn't stop himself from signing the papers. Aperture had it's legendary hold.


	2. Chapter 2  Tock

**Title**: Tick-Tock

**Rating**: T for now

**Warnings/Pairings**: Chell/Wheatley, Cave/Caroline, Spoilers for Portal 2.

**Summary**: Tick: A young man watches as his friends are corrupted in the name of science. Tock: A young woman by the name of Chell brings down the tyrant who destroyed Aperture Science; several hundred years after it would do any good.

Chapter 2: Tock

Shortly after leaving the facility and after the initial excitement of freedom had worn off, Chell felt her body begin to shake. It was mild at first, a vague annoyance, Her hands trembled and she felt a tightness in her head and chest.

She sat down, propped up against the companion cube, but the queer uncomfortable feelings of exhaustion and neurosis wouldn't leave her. She squirmed around for what felt like hours, rocking back and forth and scratching her prickling skin until eventually her vision went dark and she passed out.

When Chell woke up, her first thought was that she was back in Aperture, in a room liberally splashed with conversion gel. The next sensation was a strange tightness in her knuckles: a needle was inserted into it, attached to a machine. As she struggled to sit upright and take stock of her situation, she discovered that she was in a room and the white on the walls was just the colour they had been painted. The machines seemed to do nothing more sinister than beep in a steady rhythm.

"Good morning, Chell is it?"

She stared at the speaker. He was human, the very first she had seen in person in a very, very long time.

"Do you understand English?" he asked. She bobbed her head and he marked something down on a clipboard. "My name is Doctor James Mitchell. This is Shady Grove Community Hospital. One of the local farmers has been irrigating the contaminated wheat fields near the power stations and brought you in. We were figuring you would have trouble speaking. You seem to have experienced asphyxiation, though no physical damage has been done to your voice box. Were you trapped in a place that had a lack of breathable air?"

Thinking back to being sucked into the vacuum of space while trying to hang on to Wheatley, Chell nodded again.

"You also seem to have ingested a certain amount of a long unused chemical. It's a brand of…well, I suppose the only word for it is Neurotoxin. It used to be used in scientific experiments to render animals compliant. You've were exposed yourself somehow to the point where you developed a dependency on it. It seems to have passed from your blood stream now. How do you feel?"

The word Neurotoxin had become such an ingrained part of her existence that the mention of it gave Chell no immediate cause for shock. Instead she gave the doctor a thumbs up and pointed to the needle in her hand.

"Simply a protein and water solution to make sure you did not starve or dehydrate while you were asleep."

She pointed to the machine. "That monitors your vital signs. Heart, breathing, blood pressure."

Satisfied, Chell settled back and allowed the doctor to approach her, allowing him to take her pulse and peer into her mouth, eyes and ears with a light. She enjoyed the interesting feeling of his hands on her. The last time something with a human voice had touched her skin, it had been hard metal. Dr. Mitchell was speaking though and Chell instinctively paid attention.

"Now. We've done some research into your DNA and background and have come up with no persons by the name of Chell in this area for several hundreds of years. Mr. Lee, the farmer I told you about has agreed to allow you to stay with him until such time as you can remember where you are from or are able to make a living for yourself here."

Mr. Lee arrived with his wife a short time later and Chell was fascinated by the different humans she saw as she was guided through the hospital halls. They came in different colours, heights and weights. The ones that spoke all sounded different from one another: in various accents tones and pitch. Chell could not take her eyes off them.

"Chell, we'll get you settled in our daughter's old room and then tomorrow I'll take you to the diner. It's my wife's business and she needs someone to work in the stockrooms. You'll have to work if you want to live here."

Chell nodded, smiling in an attempt to express her gratitude. Mrs. Lee seemed to understand and Mr. Lee helped her to take the Companion Cube up to the top level of the house.

"We'll leave you alone so you can get changed."

Chell furrowed her brow.

"Open up your trunk and get some new clothes on. We'll hold dinner until you do."

Chell shook her head and pointed to the cube again, tapping it to show it was solid and contained nothing except probably more solid concrete or whatever it was that made it a 'weighted' companion cube.

"No clothing, hm?" Mr. Lee frowned, wondering what his act of charity had gotten himself into, but he looked through a few of the closets, coming up with a few pairs of dated trousers and blouses that had been the latest thing a few years ago and had been conveniently tucked away into obscure corners of storage closets by his daughter when she had left for school. He somehow doubted his new charge knew or cared how fashionable the items actually were.

Chell knew full well how to dress herself and in a matter of minutes was following her host down for dinner. It turned out to be chicken, vegetables and rice, which Mr. Lee explained proudly had been grown by himself. All of it was much better than the protein bars and powdered milk that Aperture stocked for its test subjects and Chell began gratefully picking up chunks with her fingers to eat, ignoring the pair of plastic chopsticks entirely.

"I'm so sorry, dear. Here's a fork."

Chell frowned at the metal utensil that replaced the two sticks and resumed eating.

The Lees exchanged a look but Mrs. Lee demonstrated. Noticing the confused, disproving stare, Chell determinedly gripped the fork and after a few false starts, managed to start eating in a less than perfect but apparently appropriately civilized manner as her hosts began to explain her new world to her. She listened as attentively as she would have to GLaDOS or Wheatley.

"Shady Grove is a satellite community." Mr. Lee began. "Most large cities were disbanded into communities this size. For example, this is one of the Washington D.C. Satelites. It's too difficult to get into the city centres – those are usually places where Aperture and Black Mesa ruined to the point of being inhabitable. They're dangerous minefields of radiation. The whole world is like this now: one of those two companies got up a business in practically every major city all across the globe."

Mrs. Lee interjected. "Because of the electric radiation we can still harness it to get amenities like television and power our cooking ranges and lights. All the sciences are being very carefully monitored these days. There are two in one of the Tokyo Prefecture Satelites and two in the Toronto satellites. They only produce amenities: your cars, your televisions and radios. Things like that. It's one of the reasons my family and I moved out of Canada. It's too much like living under Big Brother."

Chell nodded emphatically. She wasn't sure who Big Brother was, but she could definitely see the merits of having less monitoring technology around.

After dinner, Chell accompanied her caretakers to the sitting room, where a screen projected a story. She couldn't ask the Lee family what the show was about but she eventually recognized the news report for what it was. Chell's personal knowledge of world cultures was limited: she knew that Wheatley's accent had made his voice from a different place than Cave Johnson's and Caroline's. She understood that the Lee family was from 'Canada' which made them not 'American' and there was something about their skin colour that made them from a different place than herself and Dr. Mitchell and some of the other people she'd seen as well.

"In other news, the unknown patient has been released from hospital today." Chell was shocked to be staring at a picture of herself on the screen, alongside a moving shot of a man she recognized as Dr. Mitchell, standing with a bunch of other people who carried microphones and all seemed to be shouting at once.

"Out of respect for her privacy, the location of the patient is not to be revealed, though we are pleased to announce she has made a full recovery." Dr. Michell was saying, pushing through the crowd.

The photograph flickered back to a woman in a smart pants suit with glossy brown hair. "We go now to meteorologist Craig Pye with the weather. Craig?"

"Well Sarah, residents of the Shady Grove area will want to stay dry and indoors tomorrow. We're predicting heavy precipitation which we all know leads to electrical storms. In other news, American NASA representatives are finalizing negotiations with the Russian community and the United Nations in order to re-launch space station MIR."

"Now, the decision was of course to use older technology in order to eliminate some of the concern over another disaster like the Black Mesa and Aperture instance, is that correct?"

"That's correct. It is hoped that the Low-Earth-Orbit station will be able to acquire visual confirmation of the new satellites orbiting the moon. As you know, these new satellites appeared two weeks ago, in the form of one small body orbiting the moon itself with another small body orbiting the first. So far, this unusual lunar development has not caused any meteorological variance. Back to you Sarah."

In the Lee's sitting room, Chell stood and walked to the window. Outside, the moon was nearly full, only a small sliver obscured. Sure enough, there was a small black blob on the otherwise luminous surface. The TV droned on in the background but Chell continued to stare for hours, losing herself in watching a hairs breath of space emerge between the two blobs as the Space Core revolved around Wheatley…or maybe it was the other way around. Chell was content to watch until a tap on her shoulder startled her.

"Come to bed Chell."

Chell could still see the moon through her window upstairs and she spent as long as she could remain awake, watching until her eyes drifted shut and her breathing slowed and evened out.

* * *

><p>"I know this is worrying you." Mrs Lee sighed. "She seems harmless. I think you did a good thing by offering to let her stay. She doesn't seem to be of any danger to anyone."<p>

"That's not what's troubling me. James gave me a full account of her medical records. They watched her at that hospital. They did a thorough investigation with the police. She's not a drug addict or a runaway. If there had been any signs of that you know darn well I wouldn't have let her into our house. There's nothing else, either. No birth certificates or name change notices. It's as if she didn't exist."

"This wasn't for me, was it?" Mrs. Lee sat up in bed, folding her arms across her chest. "I am not suffering from any kind of empty nest syndrome. In fact, I hope she takes well to society and is able to get her own place sooner rather than later. We are supposed to be retiring just as soon as I can find someone suitable to take over most of the restaurant management. I haven't just been blowing smoke out my ass these past five years."

"No, it has nothing to do with that. I don't think the girl's dangerous. I think that whatever she's managed to get away from is. Whatever that is, I don't think it has any intention of letting her get to the state she is…don't give me that look. How do you explain someone who doesn't know how to use a fork and knife but is barely shocked by a car or a television?"

Settling back down under the covers, Mrs Lee frowned. "I admit, it's odd. However she's obviously intelligent. We'll just need to put some effort into teaching her." Decisively she flicked off the light. "Goodnight."

The blankets rustled and the bed springs creaked as her husband got into a more comfortable position. "I just hope that whatever she got away from doesn't decide it wants more."

Mrs. Lee had no response to that.


	3. Chapter 3 Tick

**Title**: Tick-Tock

**Rating**: T for now

**Warnings/Pairings**: Wheatley/ *spoiler, but not strictly an OC*, Chell/Wheatley, Cave/Caroline, Spoilers for Portal 2.

**Summary**: Tick: A young man watches as his friends are corrupted in the name of science. Tock: A young woman by the name of Chell brings down the tyrant who destroyed Aperture Science; several hundred years years after it would do any good.

**AN:** I am unbelievably flattered by the comments and author alerts I've received on this story. Thank you all very, very much. I look forward to replying to more signed reviews and enjoying the anonymous ones. Also, as an unrelated aside? That first scene was my own MPhil walk…except I got pissed on by the rain. Also, I did make an error - I was positive it was Johnston and not Johnson. Thanks for setting me straight there. Went back and changed it - I think I caught it all.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 3: Tick<strong>

"Wheatley Harris."

Rising from his seat, Wheatley moved to the top of the stage, accepting the roll of paper and a handshake from the dean of the Oxford University Science Department. He picked out John sitting several rows away in his alphabetically assigned seat.

John flashed his friend a thumbs up, brandishing his own diploma in triumph. Naturally, the weather had been unusually pleasant for England in May and the whole convocation ceremony was being conducted in balmy spring climates while the students and professors stifled in their academic regalia.

Wheatley and John all but ran to the reception area in the grad pub, shedding their soaked hoods and gowns as they went, chucking them in through the window of Wheatley's father's car to keep them from getting ruined. They barely escaped the ominous crack of thunder and the downpour of rain.

"Good afternoon boys."

"Duke Harris!"

"Dad."

"Congratulations to both of you!" Wheatley's father shook both their hands but lingered with John. It was a testament to just how genuine Wheatley was that he did not seem at all perturbed by his father's somewhat greater interest in his friend's accomplishments "Congratulations on the Aperture contracts."

The two young men chorused their thanks. John disappeared briefly to retrieve some of the provided wine and pasties for them and to allow the father and son an opportunity to chat.

Duke Harris wasted no time in taking advantage of the truly private moment. Wheatley had never been so glad that no one else besides John had ever become a close friend. He and his father were given a wide berth as other students shared pints and made plans to hook up over the summer months. After all, there were no further reasons now to suck up to that Harris kid or his father. Duke Harris seemed to take no notice of his son's social inadequacies. "I'm pleased you finally learned to apply yourself. Cave Johnson's test subjects are an improvement over the street tramps he used to hire and you qualified for a large project." He handed Wheatley a paper. "This is your reward son. Use it wisely."

Wheatley stared blankly at the slip of paper, the vast number, then the recognizable signature which made it legitimate. His eyes drifted back up toward his father. "This…is…"

"A small amount of your inheritance Wheatley. You deserve it." His father chuckled. "Plus a touch more. I assume you'll probably get pissed once or twice and hang out with that Cole chap. Stick with him, lad! He got you this far!"

Wheatley had no intention of doing anything less. Besides, the look on Cole's face had been worth it when later in the evening he offered him a first-class ticket upgrade towards their future at the Aperture Science facility in Washington DC.

* * *

><p>Upon arrival to their orientation, Wheatley may have looked like the only one who belonged in the offices with their mahogany wood bookshelves and rich carpeting but he felt distinctly out of place. John was sitting next to him. His friend was unusually stiff, his hands folded in his lap with fingers as closely interlocked as though he were attending a prayer service. He was wearing a clean new Aperture lab coat, part and parcel of the scientific research and testing contract he'd signed. Wheatley's suit was wrinkle free and his tie was expensive silk but he felt as though he were wearing a potato sack for all the good it was doing for his confidence.<p>

Two other women and a man occupied the lush reception area. The man appeared to have taken his wardrobe cues from an American 'Western' film complete with a ten-gallon hat and 'cowboy' boots. After an ostentatious show of looking at some of the thicker volumes that lined the shelves, he sidled up to the blonde woman in the peasant blouse and long skirt.

"Well hey there, pretty lady. Name's Rick. I'm here for the testing. S'gonna be a real adventure."

"Groovy." The blonde drawled. "I'm totally here to, y'know, check for facts. The truth man. It's all about finding the truth. Expanding your mind."

Wheatley made the grave error of looking over at John whose hand had flown to his mouth as he tried to mask his laughter with a feigned coughing fit. Wheatley had to admit that it sounded more like whatever mind expansion this woman had in store, it had a lot more to do with inhaling narcotics than it did retaining accurate information.

"Lady and Gentlemen." A voice at the end of the hall announced the presence of a black haired man in a lab coat similar to John's. He sported a scruffy hairstyle and beard. One of his labcoat pockets was turned inside out and to complete the illusion of utter unprofessional conduct, a pen appeared to have burst inside his labcoat pocket, fresh ink leaking a blue trail down the pristine white.

"Oi, Cole." Wheatley murmured. "Think one of those tramps got promoted?"

John trod lightly on his friend's foot as he bit his lip. "Stop making me laugh. Besides! That's Douglas Rattmann!"

In response, Wheatley made a rather big show of staring at his shoes while mentally praying that the acoustics in this room were terrible and he had not infact potentially insulted the second most prestigious scientist of the day next to Cave Johnson himself.

"I'd like you all to get acquainted with one another. You are as of now, Research Group B. Mr. Cole here is your head scientist." Rattmann indicated John. The fellow in the cowboy clothes reached out and shook his hand enthusiastically. "Mr. Harris will be devising testing solutions, Miss Feather Moon will be fact checking, Mr. Ashton…"

"Call me Rick."

Doug continued on undeterred, looking every which way but at the people he was addressing with an expression that clearly expressed a keen desire to be anywhere else but where he was just now. "Mr. Ashton will be executing all completed solutions. Finally, Mr. Nolan will be assisting you with the new conversion gel project."

At first Wheatley thought that their guide had made an error, but he realized that the person he had first imagined to be a young woman was in fact a very effeminate looking young man, perhaps barely come to eighteen years of age.

As if reading Wheatley's mind, Rattmann continued. "I know Mr. Nolan is young, but he's very dedicated to our Space-related research."

"This is going to be great! Space is so interesting! I won't let you down Mr. Cole! I promise. I know everything there is to know about Space!"

"Well, ah, it's brilliant to meet you all."

Out of the corner of his eye, John could see Wheatley enthusiastically shaking hands and smiling at the rest of the group that he, John Cole would be monitoring. John had his doubts but trust Wheatley to view the glass as half full. It did put his mind at ease.

"If you have any questions Cole, feel free to talk to me. You'll have questions." Rattmann was hovering by his ear, so close John swore he could feel the man's poorly shorn stubble against his cheek. He swiveled to address him, bracing himself to be at an uncomfortable distance, but the Rattmann was true to his name, scurrying toward the nearest exit, not looking back.

* * *

><p>"Oh! Hey John! Saved you a spot in the queue!" Wheatley made an attempt to call over his mate who shook his head and took his spot at the back of the cafeteria line up. "Suit yourself, but I think they're about to run out of puddings!"<p>

John made no effort to acknowledge the summons beyond a dismissive wave and Wheatley edged forward, actually rather grateful for the indifferent attitude. It helped these days not to think too much. There was so much to think about as a test subject. Sometimes, he thought maybe more than a Scientist, but John seemed less his friend and more 'Aperture Scientist Cole' these days.

"Hey. What're you waiting for, beanpole? Take it." The cafeteria lady poked Wheatley's arm with the edge of the tray.

"Thank you." Wheatley accepted his now filled plate of steamed vegetables and mashed potatoes, a half pint glass of apple juice, cup of tea and two ice cream novelties. Ahead of him, Rick was getting a meal of the Salisbury steak, a stack of roasted potatoes and milk. Wheatley tore his gaze away. Agreeing to diets were part of his contract. He just wished he felt a little more energetic. He remembered something from Biology? Was it biology? That Protein helped nourish the brain for decision making processes. At any rate, maybe he'd had too much junk food in University. That was it. He'd just need to reacclimatize himself to vitamins and minerals and general exercise. The Scientists didn't seem to mind him taking advantage of the pub or the coffee machines however. He was probably on the honour system to shape up and here he was falling back into old habits of poorly executed solutions. The easy solutions. Well, no more because those would get him fired.

Filled with determination, he went to fill up his glass of juice and collect his tea bag and hot water

"Ow"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to tread on your...your foot."

The girl he'd trod on looked up at him. "Hello."

"Wheatley Harris." He knew she hadn't asked for his name and perhaps he should have merely apologized for his clumsiness. That would have been the sensible option.

"Priscilla Marsden. Please call me Cilla." She was answering already. No turning back. "You're in Research Group B. I'm in A."

"With Mr. Rattmann."

"That's right."

"Are you on a special diet too?" The words were out of Wheatley's mouth before he could stop himself. "I'm sorry, I don't think of you as fat, I just…"

The girl chuckled in a good-natured fashion. She wasn't pretty but she was striking. She had massive, almost protuberant eyes in the most unusual shade of violet above high cheek bones and the frame of an individual who had put on a reasonable amount of weight in a short period of time.

"What are you testing for?" Wheatley pursued his line of questioning, instinctively following her towards her table and taking a seat, oblivious to the loathsome looks he received otherwise.

"I'm supposed to help GLaDOS make good decisions." All at once, the woman's voice had gone from warm and friendly to forced and almost machine-like.

"Sorry. Look, I didn't mean to…"

As though the personality change had never happened, Cilla reached out and put a hand on his arm. "Not to worry, I'm not bothered."

"Mr. Harris?"

Wheatley turned and looked up into the unshaven face of Doug Rattmann. "Yes?"

"Mr. Cole is looking for you. Apparently you were supposed to eat lunch together."

"Oh bother." Wheatley gathered up his tray and utensils and moved over to John's table.

"Did you ask her out?"

"Well…no. Doug Rattmann said you needed to see…" Wheatley trailed off as he observed Douglas Rattmann leading the pale-skinned, violet-eyed girl out of the hall by her wrist, an oven mitt clutching hold of a tray full of food.


	4. Chapter 4 Tock

**Title**: Tick-Tock

**Rating**: T for now

**Warnings/Pairings**: Chell/Wheatley, Cave/Caroline, Wheatley/Morality Core, Spoilers for Portal 2.

**Summary**: Tick: A young man watches as his friends are corrupted in the name of science. Tock: A young woman by the name of Chell brings down the tyrant who destroyed Aperture Science; several hundred years after it would do any good.

**AN: **Thank you again for all the reviews, story alerts, favorites. I'm very flattered by all of them. I love receiving them too, so this is my bid at trying to say 'more feedback please' without being one of 'those' authors who just rudely demand reviews.

To the Anon who PMed me, I'm very flattered by the idea that you'd wish to request my Morality Core character on the Portal kink meme. I can't say that I myself will be the filler of said request, but I am happy to allow people to play with my visions. Please go ahead and play – that goes for anyone.

**Chapter 4: Tock**

"Would you like some more bread?"

"Yes please."

Anne, the waitress at Lee's Diner bustled up to the counter. "I need another…oh. Thanks Chell."

She received a sunny smile and a basket of garlic loaf in return. "Damn Girl, you are good! David, what did we ever do without Chell?"

An answer wasn't expected as Anne bustled off to deliver the order and seat the family who had just arrived. The size of the community meant that there was a local restaurant that was ½ Family-style and ½ social club. From noon to five it was local business owners on their lunch breaks, from five to ten it was families socializing and having a night away from the dishes and from eight onwards it became the bar scene.

Chell had rapidly moved from unloading storage boxes to providing relief in the kitchens. David, the bald, portly middle-aged man who was the head chef still assembled all of the dishes however Chell was soon put to work chopping vegetables, deep frying chips and refilling condiment containers.

Glancing nervously at her watch, Chell moved back into the kitchens and opened the fridge, giving a thoughtful poke to something inside.

"Er, Chell?" David called.

Chell glanced up, closing the large stainless steel door. "I'm going to take my break a little early. Do you think if I did so you'd be able to put these three burgers on the buns and give them to Anne for table twenty-eight? This one has a side of chips, and the three you're going to deliver have a scoop of coleslaw and beans. See, just like this." He demonstrated. "Then get the shepherd's pie and the lasagna out of the warmer for table five."

Chell nodded. David lingered a moment to make sure she was not distracted but tracked down the manager instead of stepping out for his customary smoke.

Fifteen minutes later, he returned to find the food delivered and Chell replenishing a tray of sliced sandwich tomatoes.

"Chell, may I see you for a moment?"

In response, Chell pulled off her plastic gloves, binned them and rinsed off her hands, walking over to Orinda Lee and nodding once to show she was listening.

"Is something the matter with the fridge?"

Chell frowned deeply and then eventually shook her head 'no'.

"Come to my office."

The two women entered the small closet-sized space where the petty cash and other accounting records at the small diner were kept, Orinda closing the door to lock behind her. Chell gave a little shudder as she was reminded of the lifts she had had to take between tests. It went unnoticed by her boss and landlady. "Chell, I know you're a very bright young woman and you work very hard for me. However, David's a little concerned about your behavior tonight."

Not for the first time had Chell wished she could tell someone what had happened to her in Aperture. The other employees were all very kind, even Omar the high school student who had replaced her in stock for the summer tried to talk to her a lot.

"David says you've been touching the Smith's birthday cake and opening up the fridge a lot. Chell, I trust you but I can't have you ruining food, especially special orders. Besides, it's more than just the cake, the meat and the vegetables have to stay cold."

Chell gave a slight nod and signed an apology. Once Mrs. Lee let her leave, she did her level best to apply herself to her work.

At the end of the day, she helped load some of the leftover food for a quick dinner into the car and agreed to work the evening shift without question or complaint. "I wasn't accusing you. You've lived under my roof for this long and I know I can trust you." Chell's landlady pulled up to the stop sign and looked over briefly, patting her knee. "I saved you a slice of cake. It's in some cling film in the back seat. You can have it at supper if you like and you don't need to feel guilty for anything."

Chell simply nodded. Sometimes it was better not to try and explain. GLaDOS had lied about a lot of things, but Chell had found that there was cake. The problem had been that the insane AI had never intended for her to have it. She'd never been tempted to try a bite and she'd been compelled to ensure that the little Smith boy's birthday cake was something that he would be allowed to have. How did you explain that to someone though. She knew she wasn't always right about what she was expected to be doing with herself and that David and Anne and Omar and the rest of them as nice as they were still sometimes thought she was odd.

The slice of cake in the fridge haunted Chell. She reasoned with herself as they ate dinner. She'd come a long way in three months. She paid some rent and bought food and other amenities with the money she'd made from work and had learned some simple dishes from observation. The Lees were helping her look for a small apartment and Anne from the diner had proved herself to be a good friend. She'd even come to the sign language class with her, just so she wouldn't be the only person there older than six. Of course, not everyone bothered learning sign language so Chell's communication was generally in the form of a crude game of charades, but she'd been able to make friends in the community nonetheless.

Apart from the cake, Chell had other reasons to be nervous. The MIR relaunch was in a few days. If the satellite found Wheatley, they would take him down. If he was alive...no, _activated_. The silly little AI would undoubtedly talk. He never did shut up. Of course, that _was _only if he was still…on. Chell knew first-hand the damage exposure to space had on a human. Wheatley was an Aperture machine, but still a machine. There could have been a meteor or radiation. She gave her head a little shake as an image of the little sphere with his optic cold and blank, no back illumination lighting it flit across her vision. It made her blood run cold.

She wasn't surprised to discover how much she cared whether or not he was still on. No. She'd been right the first time. He was alive. GLaDOS would have hated to know that she was obsessively comparing an AI's state of existence to a human's. The thought made her smile.

"Chell? We'll have to leave now or we're going to be late. We'll see you later honey." Mrs. Lee added to her husband.

Chell got up, rinsed her plate in the sink and went to put her coat on.

"We'll be back in two hours." Mrs. Lee promised. "There's a ceasar salad, chicken breast and some onion loaf for dinner. The cake is Chell's." She gave a significant look to Chell who smiled in return, trying not to let her eyes betray her feelings. She wished she could just tell Mr. Lee to eat it.

The diner's night shift was one of Chell's favorites. In spite of the fact that it was a bar at this hour, no one really ever got drunk or rowdy, not even the older teenagers and twenty-somethings. She made two nacho cheese plates and then joined Anne behind the bar counter.

_Hey Girlfriend!_ Anne signed. _You okay?_

_ Fine. _Chell signed back. Anne knew full well that Chell could hear as well as anyone. Apparently her stunt with the cake that afternoon had really gotten people worked up if it meant that her friend figured they needed to have a private conversation.

"Chell, you can talk to me." Anne tapped out a cigarette and put her apron over the side of the bar. "I'm going to go take my break, but we can talk first. Then, I have some news!"

In response, Chell waved her hand in a 'go on' gesture.

"If you're sure…"

Chell repeated the wave.

"If you're sure then…" Anne left and returned after a few minutes, taking one of the complimentary mints out of the bowl by the door to mask the smell of tobacco on her breath. She scrubbed her hands and laced up her apron as quickly as she could. Chell gave the bar a cursory glance but no one seemed to require a drink refill so she turned expectantly towards her friend. Whatever Anne wanted to tell her, it was important or exciting, or both.

"Adiel proposed to me!" she all but shrieked, grasping Chell's hands and jumping up and down. "We're getting married! So, you remember Cathryn, Rose and Anne Baker, don't you?"

Chell smiled wide and nodded to show she did and jumped along with her.

"Well, they're throwing me a wedding shower! I said you should come and they said I should just invite you tonight! It's on the 25th."

Chell frowned. They were going to have a shower together? That was rather strange in her opinion.

Anne clued in to Chell's confusion. "It's a kind of party. Ask the boss. She'll explain it."

Chell beamed again and nodded agreement that she would attend though she was grateful for the large party of university students in the far back corner who were placing a large order of beer pitchers and various snack foods. Anne's friends were nice and Adiel was a smart accounting intern, but Chell always felt that they came from a different world than her. In a way, they did. She couldn't keep up when they spoke about presidents and prime ministers and the world, or when they argued over what kind of coloured outfits would look nice on them or which movies and actors were good or bad. It had taken her long enough to recognize that the girls weren't consistently lying to her. Humans were a lot like robots in a lot of way and not like them at all in other ways. However, she'd never really had that kind of trouble understanding GLaDOS or Wheatley. GLaDOS was consistently trying to wrong-foot you. Once you knew that, you could almost always pick out the truths and the lies. Wheatley tended to favour the dramatic, but even when he had been mad with power, he was never quite able to lie convincingly. She gave a small smile at the memory.

A gentle tap on her shoulder startled her out of her thoughts and she almost overbalanced. Anne rescued the beer pitcher before it splattered over the edge.

"Chell, hon, it's your break time. There's some samosas in the back if you're hungry and a few sodas. It's a really nice night out, why don't you sit outside."

Chell took an orange soda from the break room and headed out, enjoying the opportunity. She popped the tab on her drink and took a sip, her eyes tilting upward. Swallowing the mouthful, she lowered the can, her eyes still locked on the moon. There was no sign of Wheatley or the Space core in orbit.

Even after a full twenty minutes had elapsed neither core had drifted into her line of vision. She set the still full soda can on the ground and walked back indoors, thinking hard and trying to compose her expression into one of believable nonchalance.

* * *

><p>"I suppose you're curious as to why I brought you back here, aren't you, metal ball?"<p>

Wheatley's cracked optic widened in an expression of surprise as he could just make out the sterile gun metal grey and white walls of the Aperture facility, a sight he'd never thought he'd see again.

"Spaaace!" The resounding pitiful whine of the Space core caught his auditory sensors. He felt a wave of computer simulated compassion for his little satellite.

"Ugh, not you. The significantly more stupid metal ball." Wheatley's internal casings shuddered. He wished AI's had the human capacity for dreaming as he had definitely not wished to process Her voice ever again. Even Space was better than Her.

"I suppose you're wondering why I chose now to save you from Android Hell?"

"Spaaaaaaaace! Oh…Please…Wanna go back to Space!"

Wheatley remained silent. It had worked for Chell. GLaDOS didn't seem to care.

"You see, I've been picking up on the electric waves that the humans have been using to broadcast their 'news' programs. They intend on launching a space probe to…"

"Spaaaaaaaaaaace! Space cops, coming, going to get you. Taking me away from Space. Space!"

"…to find out about those mysterious new satellites orbiting the moon. I do enjoy running this facility and I just can't trust you not to blither on and tell them all about me. So, I decided to bring you back. Don't worry though; you're actually going to be useful for once in your miserable life.


	5. Chapter 5 Tick

**Title**: Tick-Tock

**Rating**: T for now

**Warnings/Pairings**: Wheatley/ *spoiler, but not strictly an OC*, Chell/Wheatley, Cave/Caroline, Spoilers for Portal 2. This chapter gets a little sexy but nothing you wouldn't see in a PG-13 film. If it's R, it's a mild R - you have to use some imagination.

**Summary**: Tick: A young man watches as his friends are corrupted in the name of science. Tock: A young woman by the name of Chell brings down the tyrant who destroyed Aperture Science; several hundred years years after it would do any good.

**AN:** Nothing exciting – I wish I could have updated sooner but life got crazy.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 5: Tick<strong>

"Want some chocolate?" Wheatley dropped the bar of Cadbury's on Cole's desk. "Dad sent it with a letter from home. I think that's the first time he's actually bothered to send me a letter while I've been away, but I don't want the candy."

"Uh…thanks." Cole looked up and Wheatley could see that he too showed signs of haggardness.

Wheatley perched himself on the edge of the desk, crossing and uncrossing his legs. "I think I've lost weight."

Cole raised an eyebrow. "Why are you giving me this then? Chocolates are permitted in your diet plan. You know that."

"That's just it, isn't it? I want some actual food. Meat, for a start. I'm worried about Cilla too. Couldn't you talk to Rattmann? It's not just the diet, he's doing everything for her besides getting her a wheelchair. She's healthy and she doesn't like it. Don't tell me it's 'all part of testing' either."

The smile he received in return was rather forced. "Exercise regimen? I'll bet. You're not getting any."

"Hey…hey, it's not like that!" Wheatley spluttered. "I'm a gentleman! I'm _courting_ her…and I know she wants to…and…I'm a gentleman okay?"

"Hm. Alright fine, fine. I'll help you get Rattmann out of the way. Just…be careful. Use some judgment mate. Serious judgment. Rattmann's a hard guy to read. I spend entire days with him and am not 100 sure of what he's thinking half the time. I'll say it again Wheatley: don't get caught."

"Alright. Alright. We won't. Thanks. Thanks for this."

"There's a meeting later this afternoon. Four to six. Go do whatever gentlemanly banging you need to do, but make sure she's back in her room by six. Use protection. Don't take her to your room, find one of the test chambers at least. The 75-block is empty." Cole really looked terrible as he said this. He blinked hard – he wasn't crying, was he? The moment was gone as quickly as it had come and Cole seemed his old self again.

"Of course Dad." Wheatley rolled his eyes. "I don't think I like you knowing this much about my sex life."

"This is all of your sex life, Wheatley."

"Oh brilliant. Thank you. That's wonderful." He paused at the look Cole was giving him. "I wasn't being sarcastic! I'm really grateful. Really and I think you're amazing and wonderful and the best friend ever. I uh…leaving now. Gotta get ready!"

He bowed out of the room and hurried back to his own room feeling strangely renewed, more energetic. His life wasn't so bad, he reasoned. He had a girlfriend, one that didn't say things like 'I need to wash my hair' or 'but I had garlic in my salad dressing,' when he asked for a kiss. He was paid and clothed and fed so long as he kept testing.

It was terrible torment to wait the 3 hours until four rolled around, but Wheatley managed it, doggedly reading some terrible book with gory anatomical pictures to suppress the anticipation. He was convinced the clock was stopped or going backwards several times, but the second the second hand swept from 3:59 to 4:00 he was practically running to Cilla's room, all but pounding on his door.

"Wheatley? What's the matter?"

"Rattmann, scientists are in a meeting…find…test chamber….?"

"I…" she blinked at him, then smiled a little mischievously. "Oh…I see."

"This one looks safe. No bottomless pits..."

She was surprisingly strong, Wheatley found as he was suddenly pulled to the floor with her lips on his face and her fingers fumbling with the front of his jumpsuit. He decided he'd better not mention the fact that he was a virgin and tried to go along with it, finding himself just as desperate. He forgot about the condom, but she produced one of her own, or maybe she'd found it in her bid to divest him of his clothing.

When they had finished, they lay curled together on the floor of test chamber 75-C. She was holding him, their legs entangled and his head pillowed on the swell of her breast.

"That was wonderful." She smiled down at him. "I'm glad your friend helped us out."

Wheatley smiled to himself. If it had been anyone else, he would have considered that 'wonderful' was just them being 'nice'. Cilla however never told a lie. They still had an hour, so he snuggled a bit closer and resolved to enjoy the rest of the time.

* * *

><p>Cole frowned deeply as Wheatley left. This meeting was important and he had a bad feeling about how it would progress. Douglas Rattmann was seeing him more often, remarking about how pleased he was with the test subject's progress. This was science and a bit of a diet change probably wouldn't kill Wheatley but his testing results were increasingly erratic.<p>

He liked Cilla – for all the short periods of time he met her, he found her to be exactly the sort of girl he'd always hoped he himself would one day meet. Polite, honest, smart. She really did like Wheatley so he figured they could use some happiness. Scratch that, he knew they needed to have some time together. Something big was going to happen.

"John." Rattmann had arrived. John had gotten used to the man's inability to look directly at you when he spoke. The remaining scientists trooped in and settled down.

"The project for Cave Johnson's AI is on schedule." Rattmann flicked on the screen. "In the event that Mr. Johnson's illness progresses to where he dies, we are going ahead with instating Caroline as the main Aperture control program, officially named the Genetic Lifeform and Disk Operating System, or'GLaDOS.'"

"Cave believes that the forcefulness of Caroline's personality or his own will cause the GLaDOS unit to be mad with power. For that reason, we are creating other AI's to be attached to the GLaDOS sphere, specifically based on character traits of the test subjects, whether cultivated or natural. In Control Group A, Pricilla Marsden will provide a moral center for GLaDOS."

Cole almost smirked in spite of himself as he considered what this 'moral' individual and Wheatley were probably up to at this moment.

"Stanley Howard will provide human emotions, Milicent Everclear will be providing a sense of curiosity thus prompting GLaDOS to test. Finally, Jamal Tennenburg will be providing knowledge. We are not sure how best to hamper GLaDOS' inhibitions so Group B will provide GLaDOS with accurate facts: that's Feather Moon, nee Laura Hill, Rick Ashton providing a sense of adventure keeping the test subjects testing and Leslie Nolan who we may decide to keep outside of GLaDOS to continue with the Conversion gel project. Most important is your friend Wheatley Harris."

"I want to have a chat about this Doug. I mean, he's exhausted. Surely we could fix up his diet a little so he's not dragging himself around."

"Wheatley is doing exactly what he needs to be doing."

"Hey, he's frustrated."

Doug frowned. "It's not a good idea to get emotionally attached to your test subjects, John."

"Well what is the point of driving him to distraction with hunger and lack of sleep? His chamber completion times have been declining steadily. He's not normally this…well, stupid."

"Oh, I don't think he's stupid if that's what you're worried about." Doug said mildly. "He's a man of average intelligence at best who makes poor decisions. That's his greatest strength."

"I fail to see how this is helpful to us."

"Well if the AI is too powerful on it's own then we need a core to dampen its intelligence. Wheatley Harris: Inteligence Dampening Core."

John made a note to himself never to allow Wheatley to find out about that. He did however feel better, if not still indignant for his friend. "So we're just making artificial intelligence programs based on our test subjects?" That didn't seem horrible.

"Oh no, Mr. Johnson was very specific. We're going to be transplanting their minds themselves."

"We're taking out their BRAINS! That's mad!"

"Not their brains, their minds." Doug repeated as if that was completely normal. "Nice isn't it. They'll live forever."

"But as…as what? Computer chips?"

"We were thinking something like metal balls."

John felt the blood drain from his face. This wasn't possible. It was crazy. It was something out of Frankenstein.

"Oh. If the test subjects are made aware or if Caroline becomes aware of the core procedure, they will be terminated. Probably along with you."

John could only sit there as the others dispersed. Wheatley was his friend and all these other people needed to be protected as well. Cave was crazy to want this but he was the only one who wanted it. Maybe he could slow down progress. Rick was always going on about how great he was in bed, maybe it was time to get the guy to put his money where his mouth was.


	6. Chapter 6 Tock

**Title**: Tick-Tock

**Rating**: T for now

**Warnings/Pairings**: Wheatley/ *spoiler, but not strictly an OC*, Chell/Wheatley, One-sided GLaDOS/Chell Cave/Caroline, Spoilers for Portal 2. This chapter involves a little more sex talk but again it's meant to be funny rather than racy.

**Summary**: Tick: A young man watches as his friends are corrupted in the name of science. Tock: A young woman by the name of Chell brings down the tyrant who destroyed Aperture Science; several hundred years years after it would do any good.

**AN:** Here we go again.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 6: Tock<strong>

A claw shot out and snatched Wheatley up from the floor, swinging him back and forth menacingly. Despite the shaking it did not stop the core from babbling in terror.

"NO! NO NO NO, NO-DON'T-THROW-ME-BACK-I-SWEAR-I'LL-BE GOOD-I-DON'T-WANT-TO-GO-BACK-TO-SPACE!"

"Spaaaaace! Where are you Space?" the Space core chimed in helpfully from below. "Why does no one ask me what I want? I wanna go back to Space! Might see my Dad!"

"Oh shut up!" Both Wheatley and GLaDOS chorused as one.

"Hmph." GLaDOS huffed, apparently annoyed with herself by possessing any thought process in line with the sphere she held in her claw. "Perhaps I should put you back in space. You seem to have at least gained some intelligence on your trip."

Wheatley produced a noise very similar to a human taking in air in preparation to scream. GLaDOS stopped him before he could get out a sound.

"I'm NOT going to. I'm going to make you useful. You see, I don't have any more test subjects. No human ones at least. So, I'm going to use you."

Wheatley's optic narrowed in what he hoped was a good imitation of Her most scornful 'expression'. "I think you're possibly seriously memory damaged. Did that potato do something to you? I mean…sorry, sorry, forget I mentioned potatoes but me? A human? I'm not stupid enough to believe that! I know what humans look like and I know what I look like…and we're not even made out of the same stuff!" The blue optic whirled once and settled into a smug, half-lidded expression. Evidently Wheatley was pleased with himself for outwitting Her.

GLaDOS chuckled darkly. "Oh, but I'm not lying. I'm also not lying when I tell you that you have most likely managed to kill my last test subject. It's funny because she did think somewhat highly of you, but she was brain damaged remember, so it's not entirely her fault for a change."

"I didn't kill her…if she's dead now, YOU killed her because I saw you pull her back in and if she's dead now then that's YOUR fault." Wheatley informed her. Some of the smugness had faded from his tone as he thought of Chell dead.

"Do you know how the founder of this company died?" GLaDOS asked abruptly.

"Yeah. You killed all the employees with testing and neurotoxin."

"Not exactly. That conversion gel that my test subject had to use to get you out of my body? Well, consider that it is made from ground up moon rocks. The founder of the company was exposed to it for a long period of time as well. Apparently it causes severe bone and tissue poisoning."

"You're lying."

"No, for once I'm telling the absolute truth. No lie I could make your dull-witted mind believe could ever be as satisfying as watching you have to believe the truth. It's ironic, isn't it?"

"So you…pulled me down here to make me feel worse. Well…yeah, okay that's pretty like you. Maybe you're not brain-damaged after all." Wheatley's optic 'lids' drooped in a convincing pantomime of remorse.

"I'm definitely not brain damaged. I told you, you are going to help me get my human test subject back. Since I can't have the one I want, we're going to get you to help me make a new one."

Wheatley was reconsidering the brain damage assessment.

The elevator rose. With it, came a thick tube. A man was standing in it. Wheatley had kept an eye on the test subjects long enough to know that it was indeed, a male. He had a…one of those dangly bits between his legs. His expression was terrified, not that Wheatley blamed him. It took a strong human like Chell not to be frightened by Her.

"Uh…it's okay mate! Um. You know, actually, it's probably not but um, I don't think we're going to die just yet so um…" Wheatley trailed off as he noticed that the man's expression did not change, nor did he move in any other way. He also seemed to be suspended a few inches off the ground somehow behind the glass that had little bubbles in it. "Mate…? Oh! Oh. He's dead…and um…I know this one: frozen!"

GLaDOS reached out a second claw which tried once or twice to pick up the cold tube, but only slipped across the surface of the ice. The appendage gave an impatient wave and struck it, causing spiderwebbing to appear on the surface. "There's a freezer in the basement. The body of Cave Johnson is down there, as is Caroline's but I can't use them. He's still infected and I deleted her. I found this body. This one shouldn't have been there at all. Apparently, the only friend this man ever had decided to preserve this body, illegally, I might add but it will suit my purpose now. Not a very good friend. Pity he's dead. If it were me, I'd like a chance for revenge on such a horrible friend."

Wheatley stared. The man looked like he had died watching something terrible, or maybe having something painful done to him. He didn't seem unusual in any way save for his height. Wheatley considered all male humans to be quite vile looking. All those sticky-out pieces, not even ones that you could put away. At least the female variety had lovely round bits all over. Round was practical. Not that he was in any way biased about round things.

"You don't recognize him?"

"Obviously not, I've never seen him before in my life. You were the only one who bothered going down to the lower levels…er…when I threw you down there in your potato, which I might add I am VERY sorry about, please don't shake me again."

"You must not have looked in many mirrors, or perhaps you did and cracked them all. I don't blame you. You may be the ugliest human I've ever seen. However you are all I have to work with which means we've got a lot of work to do."

"You really are bloody memory-damaged!" Wheatley gasped in awe, naturally forgetting again that it was generally speaking a very bad idea to insult someone twenty times your size who had you restrained and was possessed of the ability to crush you like a soda can. "I am not a moron, I am not a human…or a human moron!"

"Personality cores have to come from somewhere." GLaDOS said breezily. Yours was taken from this particular one. This silly, moronic ugly human, so unloved that the only friend he had killed him and put him in a personality core and a stupid one at that. The only thing that improved was…well, nothing. You're still pretty ugly and pathetic." The claw holding Wheatley suddenly whipped back and released him into a wall where he bounced off and hit the floor with an echoing clang. He let out a noise of artificially produced pain but not his usual wails and ranting. The concept was impossible.

"Okay…Okay. Even if this is not a lie, which don't get me wrong I'm pretty sure it is because you're YOU and all you do is lie…but okay. ASSUMING this is not, in fact, a lie, why would you want me back as a human. I'd be a disappointing test subject and I really really don't believe I ever smelled."

GLaDOS rolled her optic. "Only dead humans smell. They decompose. You did not and that's a pity. I'm sure a little gangrene would have been a vast improvement."

"Oh. That does explain a lot. Well, he is ugly anyway."

GLaDOS briefly retracted her chassis in an impression of a noncommittal shrug. "Well, since you poisoned my human test subject, I've decided a better punishment is to use you to help me make more. I will put you back in this body. After that, I'll let you go."

Now that had to be a bonifide lie. "Yeah. Right. You'd let me go."

"It is a crucial part of my plan to get my test subject back. This disgusting human – you, that is, happens to have the necessary organic material to perform the vile acts that make more humans, hopefully with my test subject if she is not in fact already dead. I will just have to gamble that I do not wind up with a facility full of pushy, fat little morons."

"I'm not a….wait. Making…more humans? How do they do that? Wait…that's…the thing where they…and they stick the…and all the squishing and the in and out and in and out…oh that's just bloody vile! I wanted to apologize, not do…that!"

"She'll probably like it." GLaDOS sounded strange; actually angry rather than her usual cool, detached persona. "If you put a bag over your head. Maybe."

The mad AI gave one appendage a few experimental twitches, hovering above Wheatley.

"Hey, what are you…?"

Like a martial arts expert splitting a block of wood with his hand, the appendage came crashing down, cracking Wheatley's chassis apart, deep to his interior workings. He let out a mechanical howl that was cut short by GLaDOS touching something in the inside which caused the blue backlighting of his optic to go out. The other claw worked away at the slowly melting block of ice that ensconced the body.

"Ugly thing." She repeated, her yellow optic narrowing to glare at the body, a hint of jealousy creeping into her tone. "I hope she hates you. She's my test subject. MINE."

* * *

><p>"Earth to Chell! Man, your head is in the clouds today! Come on, Anne's opening up your gift! Remind me not to top off your wine…only one glass and you're spacing out already!" She giggled.<p>

Chell supposed that her mind really was up there. In outer space. She had watched Anne walk around the mall shooting things with what kind of looked like a Portal Gun in the store. Instead, they showed up on a monitor and Chell had to pick out something. She picked out the punch glasses and pitcher with a cobalt blue design on them. Mrs. Lee told her they were a nice choice. She thought so too, but probably for a different reason than Anne.

"Chell, they're beautiful! Thank you honey!" They got up to give eachother hugs like all the other girls had done and Chell returned to her seat. At least the party was interesting if not a little strange. They glued the bows and ribbons from the parcels onto paper plates that Anne was supposed to wear like a hat and brassiere. They watched a movie with some good-looking male actor. Someone Chell didn't know had brought a karaoke tape.

"Chell, I'm sorry. She didn't realize."

_It's okay!_ Chell signed. _I can still listen._

Chell didn't really understand what was amusing about the fact that the girls couldn't sing very well but she listened politely, turning her head to alight on the bookcase. Chell understood most words, but she was still having difficulty reading them. She knew what all the boxes and foods and drinks at the diner said but there were very few words she knew here. There was no mistaking the familiar spiral logo on the cover of one book. No one noticed as she pulled it off the shelf and opened it up.

A picture adorned the first page. It was a group of people. Some were smiling, a few were not and one was looking at his feet. Her eyes drifted over them. None of them looked familiar except the one with the shaggy beard and sloppily buttoned coat. She was sure she knew him even if that was impossible but couldn't think of his name. A few words she recognized: 'disappeared' and 'memory'. She put two and two together – this book was in memory of these people who had disappeared at Aperture. That was funny, Wheatley had told her there were tons of people at one time, before she'd woken up.

There was a second page as well as well but this one she recognized. She'd seen it in a funny part of the downstairs Aperture Laboratories. This one was entitled "Cave Johnson, Founder with Intern Caroline."

From there, the pages were filled with words that Chell didn't yet know. She put the book back on the shelf until after the party when she tapped Anne on the shoulder, led her to the book case and pointed first at herself, then at the volume.

"The Aperture book?" Anne asked in surprise. "Sure…but be careful Chell." She added. "There are some people that would view taking an interest in a book about Aperture Science like being interested in a book about Hitler. It's a touchy subject for some people."

Chell cocked her head to one side, tapping the book, pointing at Anne and giving another shrug.

In response, she opened the book and pointed at the inside front cover at the only African-American man in the photograph. "I'm supposed to be some great-great-great-great…well, descendent of this man: Jamal Tennenburg. I did a project on him for Black History Month at our school once."

_How come you didn't get in trouble?_

"Well, the school didn't like it, but he was the first Black man hired at Aperture who was paid for it and it was a very exciting thing at that time. Dad bought the book because he figured that I should know everything I can about my family's history."

_What was he like? How did he disappear?_

"I don't know too much. Nobody does because of the Combine Incident." However there was this 'Bring Your Daughter To Work Day' day. I heard it was some kind of sponsored Women's Movement: Cave Johnson was supposedly very big into all sorts of causes before he got ill and made a lot of controversial statements…they said he'd gone 'crazy', but most people forgave him and blamed everything from medication to deterioration."

Chell nodded. She picked up the bag she brought with her, putting the book inside and shutting it firmly. _Thanks._


	7. Chapter 7 Tick

**Title**: Tick-Tock

**Rating**: T for now

**Warnings/Pairings**: Wheatley/ *spoiler, but not strictly an OC*, Chell/Wheatley, One-sided GLaDOS/Chell Cave/Caroline, Spoilers for Portal 2. This chapter involves a little more sex talk but again it's meant to be funny rather than racy.

**Summary**: Tick: A young man watches as his friends are corrupted in the name of science. Tock: A young woman by the name of Chell brings down the tyrant who destroyed Aperture Science; several hundred years years after it would do any good.

**AN:** A food-related AN. I've always imagined that the Portal cake was a Black Forest Cake and also, the cherry/melon/coconut milk thing I describe was something made by a highschool friend of mine whose mother was African-Canadian and if I'm not mistaken of Jamaican descent. If I could go back some 13-14 years and tell myself to get the recipe I would. (Hint hint any Jamaican cuisine-savvy people who may be reading this?) Also – New Father has some overlap with this story but I'm not sure whether it's legitimate overlap or a kind of AU of my Interpretation of the Pre-Portal Universe. At any rate, it's sort of a look into Rattmann's mind which we won't see here.

And an extra **Dedication**: It seems only fair that I dedicate this story to the real Feather since I'm using her name for my own purposes. Yes, her real name, no, the lady is not a hippie, but her parents were.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 7: Tick<strong>

"Happy Birthday to you dear Cilla. Happy Birthday to you!" The song ended with a burst of enthusiastic but scattered applause accompanied by a huff of air on the eponymous birthday girl's part as she blew out the candles on the cake; some sort of chocolate thing adorned with cherries and whipped crème.

"Presents!" Wheatley chorused, even before the smoke receded.

For John, the little party was the most heart rending thing he'd ever witnessed. It was an effort to even behave in a remotely normal fashion. His secret was becoming more and more difficult to hide. Not simply because of his friend, but for the turnout.

Of course, Wheatley had decided to throw the party but not a single one of the small group of test subjects was missing from the proceedings. John was meeting them all as humans for the first time. All the little nuances that made them people were becoming impossible not to notice, particularly in light of Douglas Rattmann's 'meeting' last week.

Take Jamal Tennenburg for example. A man who was almost sort of famous at that point because he was Black and paid at Aperture the same salary as the White employees. He'd even been interviewed for a magazine article recently, a fact which had delighted Cole. How exactly Cave Johnson would get around that, he was dying to find out. The man wasn't the life of the party but Cole noticed how he chose to celebrate his heritage proudly but quietly in dress and actions. He never preached and never bragged, but made absolutely sure everyone tried at least one spoonful of his regional coconut dish with melons, grapes and cherries. It was delicious and spoke volumes of his thoughtfulness, to bring something everyone could enjoy.

"ALL RIGHT! FUCKIN' PRESENTS!" The equivalent of the rowdiest American football cheer erupted from the mouth of Stanley Howard. John knew that Rattmann had been feeding him extra testosterone. While he was in his mid-thirties, he often behaved like a teenage boy going through puberty, replete with zits and teenage insecurities. "Open mine first!" He all but rammed the parcel into Cilla's face.

"Lovely Stan! Thank you!" The young woman smiled openly and hugged the stuffed rabbit before setting it gently on the table.

Stan gawked down her top in response. At John's side, Wheatley tensed up.

"Easy there Wheatley, let's not pick fights we can't win…" John murmured. "Besides, you know you got her something better than a stuffed rabbit!"

Wheatley relaxed somewhat, whether because of the party atmosphere or because he was in the presence of his lady friend John didn't know, but he was relieved.

"We got yours together. I asked Leslie and then we decided it would be practical to get you a nice gift because that is smart budgeting. I was curious as to whether it was inappropriate so I researched it myself and it was not." Milicent and Leslie held out their parcel next. They were young – just interns, paid a little less and still attending their respective Universities, also a fact that John felt good about. It turned out to be a large box of bath beads and soaps. John caught the surprised look on Leslie's face that suggested he probably had very little to do with the choice.

There was a tense moment when Feather's bong was unwrapped but Cilla managed to avert disaster by placing Rick's flowers in it like a vase.

John himself had bought her a little glass ornament shaped like a basset hound based on Wheatley's advice, but he barely cared about her praise, watching as the man who was his best friend stepped forward to give her his gift. Wheatley had spent so much time on the decision and knowing what he did, Cole felt almost as much anxiety as if Cilla were his own girlfriend.

Cilla's eyes widened as she took out the pearl bracelet. Not even just any pearl bracelet either. It was a strand of perfect rare pink pearls.

"It's your birthstone."

"Helped him look it up myself." Feather drawled.

"Oh, Wheatley." Cilla kissed Wheatley to a chorus of praise and John closing his eyes while he rubbed his temples to quell the despair he felt.

She smiled at him a moment later and spoke softly in his ear while Wheatley was distracted. "Thanks, Johnathan."

"For what?"

"Helping Wheatley with the gift." She chuckled.

John swallowed down the lump that had risen in his throat. "You're welcome. You look beautiful tonight." He meant it, though certainly not in the context Cilla probably imagined it was meant. There was some hope his little plot was working. The girl did look healthier. Her figure was still soft but her curvature had developed muscle with regular exercise. He'd entertained a few more drastic plots but there were cameras all over the place so none of them seemed safe. He was hoping for the best with what tools he had.

The rest of the party almost made up for the gnawing guilt in John's stomach. Wheatley had insisted upon bringing Risk and they had some wine and picked away at the cake and other appetizers while they played and talked.

The last thing John Cole remembered was laying his head down on his arm, just for a second while Wheatley rolled his red dice to attack Jamal's blue soldiers in South America.

Seemingly a moment later, he got shook awake by a frantic Leslie. The young man was standing over him talking high speed.

"Someone came here in the night!"

"Oohhh?" Cole sat up. His mouth felt a little bit cotton-filled.

"I was…was…kind of drunk." Leslie's head sunk to his chest. "I don't know where Millicent went!"

"Probably just woke up, figured just like you she had a little bit much and went back to her room." John yawned. A sweep of the room showed everyone was a little bit sprawled. "Don't worry you didn't do anything silly. Sure you'll find another g..g…" he yawned deeply. "…girl if…she's not…into you or whatever."

"I've been to her room. She's gone." The young man insisted, shaking Cole's arm.

Eventually John became more alert. The guests were indeed sprawled around Cilla's room. Wheatley and Jamal were still slumped across the table with dice clutched in their hands. John swallowed. His mouth was unnaturally dry and his head was spinning still but he had enough sense to know that all of this made absolutely no sense. Two bottles of sparkling wine split between ten people wouldn't cause blackouts. Not even drunken antics. It was physically impossible.

He got up, feeling like he was dragging himself to the sink and poured two glasses of water, draining his own and offering the other to Leslie who also downed it as though he hadn't had a drop in days.

"You say Millicent is missing." That was the place to start.

"Yes sir, she is. I wanted to apologize when I woke up but she wasn't here and not in her room. I'll never drink again I promise!"

"Leslie…Um, yes. You were positively terrible last night, far too much to drink lad. It's a terrible habit and I'll thank you to sit here and think about what you've done...What we both did. I'm…going to go find out what happened and if you're lucky she'll forgive you."

Weighted down by his lie but without the time to think about the consequences, John set out down the hall from the relaxation wing to the labs. He knew he would find Rattmann there. The man was there, his labcoat sloppy on his shoulders - he had apparently washed it though as the ink stain was far less pronounced.

"Oh, Doctor Cole. Sorry about the drugging but um, it would have been suspicious…you know…since…we don't want people to worry. Don't worry it's…fast acting. You know. There's no side effects."

John had nothing to say. There were so many questions he could have asked. Where were the drugs? The cake? Slipped somehow into Jamal's offering? The drinks? He sat on the chrome table. He had to sit down.

"Where is Milicent?"

Rattmann smiled at the wall above John's head. "The operation was a success. We've done it. GLaDOS is going to be a complete success."

The block of ice in John's belly spontaneously turned to lead.

Rattmann disappeared and returned holding a cloth covered object. For a terrible moment John believed it to be a body but he soon rationalized the lump was far too small to be a person. Rattmann whisked the cloth away and a digital but painfully familiar female voice chirped away.

"Oh hello man. You are a man right? I know you. Don't I? I don't know where from, could you tell me? This is all very strange, it was all sort of white before and now I see lots of things. Is that normal? Why do I see lots of things now? What's that? Oh. Oh and that? Oh what's that square thing? What's a square? Is it different from a circle? And what's a circle?"

John stared at Douglas Rattmann as the metal thing in his hands continued to babble questions.

"Millicent." He said.

Douglas Rattmann beamed at the clock on the wall. "Mr. Johnson is pleased."

"So this is how it's going to be." His limbs didn't seem to be working any better than his head.

"Hm? Yes. The experiment was a complete success. The test subject's a little different as a core but she's doing her job. Next time we won't drug you – it was just a precaution."

John gazed into the whirling amber optic part of the sphere and felt powerless. All his attempts to stymie this and they'd failed. He'd been so very sure that Millicent was safe because she was a University student. Perhaps if he'd been a little more forceful or proactive he could have prevented it. Now the only question was: Who was next?


	8. Chapter 8 Tock

**Title**: Tick-Tock

**Rating**: T for now

**Warnings/Pairings**: Wheatley/ *spoiler, but not strictly an OC*, Chell/Wheatley, One-sided GLaDOS/Chell Cave/Caroline, Spoilers for Portal 2. This chapter involves a little more sex talk but again it's meant to be funny rather than racy.

**Summary**: Tick: A young man watches as his friends are corrupted in the name of science. Tock: A young woman by the name of Chell brings down the tyrant who destroyed Aperture Science; several hundred years years after it would do any good.

**AN:** I have been in the hospital for awhile. Hiho.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 8 - Tock<strong>

The news had progressed from local broadcast to local papers to the official local gossip of Shady Grove within a matter of hours. Another human had been found in the wheat fields. A man, in worse condition than Chell had been. Now, he laid in critical condition at the Shady Grove Intensive Care Facility.

"Chell honey? May we speak to you?" Quickly, Chell shoved Anne's '_Aperture Science'_ book deep into her bag and pulled out the novel she was to be practicing reading for her Social Skills class, opening it to a random page and attempting to appear engrossed in its contents. She looked up when Mrs. Lee entered the room. Despite the elderly woman's discomfort with the situation, Chell did not deign to appear overtly engrossed nor abashed.

* * *

><p>"I'm sure you've heard the news by now. Dr. Mitchell would like you to come back to the hospital to see if you can identify the new man they found the other day. He was located in roughly the same area as you were. They've determined via a DNA test that he's no relation of yours but they are hoping perhaps proximity may jog either of your memories. Don't worry, they've taken every precaution to be sure you'll be safe." Mrs. Lee was anxious and Chell was able to read it in her body language.<p>

The press had been unable to obtain a photograph of the newest specimen and no broadcast, television, radio or newspaper had managed to get anything exclusive other than the gender of the individual (male) and that he was in terrible danger (speculation).

As unwilling as she was to return to the hospital, Chell needed no time to decide that she definitely wanted to see, if not outright meet this person. Her mind was reeling; what if she did know him? What if he was the artist who had etched out all those chalk drawings all over the facility? Sometimes she felt as though whoever that person was had sometimes known her better than she had known herself.

In signing she knew she was promising that she would acquiesce to certain terms. though perhaps not in quite such an elegant fashion. Perhaps, she felt it might save a human life. A more important human life than her own.

"I'll call Dr. Mitchell. Don't worry about work, I think this is far more important for you. Why it may help you learn where you came from."

Mr. Lee had a different opinion on the matter. "I'm not taking in another one, Orinda." He'd dropped his voice but his poorly executed stage whisper still carried conviction and volume.

"Relax. Hopefully they will know each other. Dr. Mitchell said he seemed a bit older than Chell here."

"I'm telling you Orinda, my charity is only going to stretch so far once Janice has our first grandchild."

"She's not even married yet. Chell is a dream! She pays her way and works hard." Orinda Lee always had confidence in Chell's abilities and Chell herself always strove to adhere to those standards.

There were a few more sincerely less antagonistic grumbles as Mr. Lee headed out to the fields for another day's work. Normally Chell felt rather guilty for upsetting their lives after these increasingly frequent speeches, but today she could have cared less if he'd attempted to evict her then and there. She paced all over her room, barely able to eat her breakfast or commit to one spot for any lengthy period of time. She wondered if his voice box would be damaged as hers had been, if he had learned to communicate as she had with hand gestures and writing. Ultimately, she was torn between terrible fear of this unknown man and great affection for him as well: someone else who had been through what she had. The idea was nearly unfathomable.

Mrs. Lee was speaking on the phone. "I'm afraid I need you to run the diner today, David." She was explaining. "An emergency came up. Chell will not be in either. Yes, it is that. Tell Omar and Anne we'll pay them double time for today and tell Anne that if that girlfriend of hers, Cathryn was it? The one we had for stocks summer before last. See if she wants a day of work."

There were a few more noncommittal organizational noises and pleasantries before a click and a beep signaled the start of a second call. Chell edged closer to the top step, feeling guilty for eavesdropping but unable to help herself. This was the call that mattered.

"Hello. This is Orinda Lee calling for Doctor James Mitchell…Yes. Chell has agreed to come to see if she can help identify this individual….We've taken care of everything on our end so what ti—yes. Half thirteen is fine, Doctor."

_Half-thirteen. Half-one PM. Half-past one. One-Thirty._ The words both spoken and unspoken rang in Chell's mind like a chant. She returned to her room without bothering to listen to the rest of the one-sided call and her eyes alighted on the companion cube. She'd been using it as a makeshift desk and stool. She set its current adornment of notebook, lip balm and pen passengers onto the floor and snatched it up. If it truly was the man who had drawn on the walls he would recognize the cube instantly. For that matter, if it was any test subject from Aperture, he would recognize the item in question. She picked up her messenger bag with the book in it as well. She remembered Anne's warnings about the book being a source of trouble but she also recognized it as being one of her best chances at expressing herself and where she had come from clearly to this stranger.

* * *

><p>Mrs. Lee seemed just as on-edge as Chell as they turned onto the off-ramp towards the hospital. Normally the other woman was quite talkative and maternal but today she drove in silence, her mouth pressed into a tight line of – well, Chell wasn't sure what emotion.<p>

Normally Chell would have been inundated with a rush of emotions the second she set foot in the hospital building. This was after all, the vantage point of her first point of contact with other humans in her own living memory. Then there was all the white and grey, but spider-webbed with the colours of emergency lines to follow to various wings of the facility.

The receptionist, a vibrant bottle redhead whose obvious boredom contrasted sharply with Chell's jangling nerves popped a large bubble with her gum and paged the Doctor as lazily as a fly circling for a spot to land on a fresh cow pie.

It seemed as though Jim Mitchell took his sweet time as well. Finally however he was squeezing through the doors past a nurse pushing a cart full of bathroom supplies to restock rooms. He pulled off a glove, dusted off the powder on the leg of his scrubs and shook both women's hands in a business-like fashion.

"Mrs. Lee, I'll have to ask you to wait out here. Given the delicate condition of this particular patient, we want his awakening to be as stress-free as possible. Miss Chell, if you will accompany me."

Chell hurried along at his side as they took a path that she remembered well, even though it had now been months since she had transversed it herself. Photographic memory was a skill one tended to learn quickly in the Aperture facilities.

"Right through here." Dr. Mitchell said, pointing at a room a few steps down the hall from the room Chell had once occupied herself. "He's not conscious right now but we'll give you some time alone to collect your thoughts and write anything down about him you might know. We're calling him 'John Doe' for now."

Nodding once to show she understood, Chell took a breath and stepped inside the room. Nothing could have prepared her for the shock. The man splayed in the hospital bed looked nothing short of terrible and even that seemed far too polite a term. His eyes, though closed, had deep dark purple rings underneath them and his whole body seemed too long for the bed he was in. His cheeks were hollowed and his hair was scruffy and greasy. He seemed to have tubes and drips coming and going all over the place. She couldn't remember having that many when she had woken here. His arms were almost like sticks, his stomach practically concave while he laid on his back. A clear plastic mask was fit over his nose and mouth and she recalled the beeping of the monitor that kept track of breathing patterns and heart rate. Two pistons pumped laboriously to keep his lungs inhaling precious oxygen.

The other amazing thing was that she did know who he was.

Setting the Companion Cube down by the bed, Chell eagerly pulled out her book the second she was certain she was alone, flipping open to the front page with the photograph with the man Anne said she'd been distantly related to. She found his name and counted over to the tallest figure in the photograph. He looked healthier here but still tired, towering over the rest of the group with a nervous grin and a hunch to his shoulders to fit into the frame, a sheepish half-lidded expression that was worrisomely familiar.

She pulled out a notebook and wrote down: 'W. Harris', then flipped to the index pages of the text, running her finger down it and feeling a bubble of a strange kind of frozen-heat run from her toes straight up her spine and into her brain when she located the reference. She knew this name. She knew it so very well as it had been brazenly stamped across every available surface the second she and POTaDOS had clawed their way up from the bowels of Old Aperture.

Any normal person in Chell's position would have called it 'impossible', and that it was just some weird coincidence. Chell knew far better than to underestimate Aperture Science.

_Wheatley._

Movement caught Chell's eye. One of his fingers had definitely twitched.

* * *

><p>The world was made up of pain as Wheatley regained consciousness. He was staring at a patch of blurred grey, which twisted and whirled within his line of vision.<p>

He tried to clench his upper and lower rail clamps together and felt funny. Like there was a lot of him to clench. He felt the appendages coil in towards himself after a few tries. Success. Well, maybe. It was strange though, not entirely right. There was a different kind of resistance meeting his limbs. Hard bits, but not metal bits.

It took some effort but eventually he willed the world to stop spinning (at great cost to his aching joints) and as he experienced success, he immediately tried to reverse the process. His electric blue hit stunning gun metal grey. Her face was upside down and it was unwilling to right itself for several moments.

"Oh…" he croaked. He'd never known speech to be so difficult. She rose, moved out of his field of vision, but just as his brain registered panic Chell walked right back over, holding something smooth to his lips. The second the moisture touched his mouth he started suckling greedily, drawing in the liquid toward him. Chell did not deny this and let him gulp down the clear fluid. She even went and refilled it so he could repeat the process.

"Hey hey. That's enough. Let him settle for a moment."

Wheatley barely heard the last, but when he regained his senses he could see something off-white coloured waving in front of his face. He reached forward with his lips and he was rewarded appropriately when the new white thing was yielded to his mouth. He greedily cracked the shape between his teeth and swallowed hastily, coughing slightly to accommodate the fruit flavour of the drink and to ease it down his aching throat.

Thinking fast Chell offered him a gulp of water from a plastic water bottle. Wheatley coughed several times then took the sugary blue sports drink in hand again and finished it. He clutched to the empty plastic remains, refusing to let go until the last drop of water was gone. Chell was willing to be patient. It only meant he not only learned quickly but he had a modicum of sense.

"You like that?"

Wheatley nodded.

"Do you want more?"

Another, more enthusiastic nod.

They were in business.


	9. Chapter 9 Tick

**Title**: Tick-Tock

**Rating**: T for now

**Warnings/Pairings**: Wheatley/ *spoiler, but not strictly an OC*, Chell/Wheatley, One-sided GLaDOS/Chell Cave/Caroline, Spoilers for Portal 2. This chapter involves a little more sex talk but again it's meant to be funny rather than racy.

**Summary**: Tick: A young man watches as his friends are corrupted in the name of science. Tock: A young woman by the name of Chell brings down the tyrant who destroyed Aperture Science; several hundred years years after it would do any good.

**AN:** This chapter was the hardest thing I ever had to write. I usually do this stuff around periods of insomnia because I continuously write all day because of work but in this case I just had to stop sit down and watch a hell of a lot of Top Gear before I was even willing to continue.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 9: Tick<strong>

Douglas Rattmann came for Pricilla long before she was ready to wake that day. She was still spinning – goodness sakes what did she even DO the other night? That John chap who was Wheatley's friend insisted they had too much to drink at the party but she'd thought she'd been sensible. She couldn't remember anything beyond a half glass of champagne, but the way John had spoken they'd all been three sheets to the wind.

"Leslie, sweetheart? Was I drunk last night?"

"…I think we really were. John told me so. I was sick this morning….I must have been bad. I'm really worried about Millie though because she was missing when she got up and I sort of remember someone coming into the room."

"Well, no more so than me…" Cilla said, missing the confused look on the young man's face. Obviously they'd done something. Not a single one of them wasn't feeling ill in some fashion. "Wait…Millie's missing? …are you sure she didn't just go back to her room…oh I need to sit down. Maybe you should check your room." Cilla trailed off.

Wheatley awoke a moment later and didn't seem any better. He immediately raced to the toilet and vomited, reinforcing Cilla's opinion that somehow they'd made grave errors concerning their alcohol consumption.

Well. It was fair enough. It was a bad night. She had an otherwise clean track record so maybe one night of drunken antics was permissible.

While she was still nursing her hangover, Doug arrived at her place. Oh she'd always adored him. A little shy and all too sweet. Too wrapped up in his work for her tastes but she had always figured Wheatley could have benefited from some of his confidence. She would never say it though.

A smile crossed her face at the thought of Wheatley and she belatedly recalled she was supposed to be getting ready to go wherever Doug Rattmann was taking her and that he expected her to get dressed.

"Sorry Doug I won't be a moment. Help yourself to whatever you like while I'm in the shower. Would you like me to put on a jumpsuit?"

"Ummm…."

"Okay. Getting in the shower, just help yourself to what's in the fridge."

There wasn't any rustling that Cilla could overhear while she scrubbed her hair.. That didn't surprise her. Doug hadn't ever been the talkative sort.

"So about the jumpsuit?" she asked as the shower switched off.

"Yes. Wear the Jumpsuit." The request was cold and clipped. That was a little funny. Doug was normally polite with her. It was probably the Millicent issue. A missing eighteen child was about more than anyone could take and hadn't she been in his test subject group?

She could always try to talk to him. Yes that would be best.

"Don't worry Doug, I'm on my way. Sorry for the delay! Brushing out my hair."

He was waiting for her when she got out of the toilet, gazing at her body as though he'd never seen a female before in his life. That was a little strange but she zipped up her jumpsuit and followed him when he crooked a finger to ask her to come follow.

They were going through the hall to a lab that Cilla didn't recognize.

Halfway there, Doug brought her up short.

"Stop. I want to get you your wheelchair."

Cilla laughed. "Doug there's no reason for that. I'm totally able to walk on my own. I know there's some science thing I don't understand regarding this but honestly I…I'm perfectly capable of having my relationship with Wheatley and well you know what they…um…well…I can walk alright?"

Her face went red.

Douglas scowled, more angry than she'd ever seen him.

"Please Doug, really I didn't mean anything by it. I thought you knew!"

"Get. In. The. Chair." The scientist scowled.

The woman obeyed instantly.

The chair was wheeled along through to a part of the facility Cilla had never seen before. It had a cold looking metal table and a cage which contained a small grey metal ball with an orange optic.

A voice emanated from somewhere and Cilla was shocked to realize it came from the metal ball.

"Who are you?"

It took Pricilla Marsen only a mere moment to identify the voice. The look on her face should have melted anyone's heart.

"She…You…"

"Oh hello lady. I know you. You used to test with me. That is nice. How are you these days? I only see the walls here so I wonder a lot about what things are like in the other parts of the lab. I remember the other parts of the lab. There was an incinerator and a lot of humans. I liked the humans. Oh good. They're going to do to you what they did to me. We'll be part of Her. I always ask who 'Her' is but they never tell me…isn't that exciting? Do you like mysteries? I like mysteries a lot. Don't worry that machine just looks scary. Oh I bet you'll yell. Don't though. I learned it is very relaxing. You just go to sleep and wake up and oh it's wonderful. You talk and talk and talk and always get to ask questions even though people don't answer you. I love questions.

Cilla glanced at Douglas Rattmann, horrified. She was a smart lady and put this together.

"Please, GOD. God Above, Jesus and Mary and Joseph I beg you. Please don't do this to me. No Don't. Please stop. You just aren't this cruel Douglas I know it…PLEASE. GOD, Anyone! Please…I know…I know you can stop this. It doesn't have to be this way. Don't tell me that. I just don't want to hear it, I don't want to live forever, please. Please. I swear I'll do anything, anything if you spare me and just let me live. Oh my Goodness. You're going to do this to everyone else aren't you? You…You did it to that sweet little girl you were the one and oh my GOD GOD NO. You are a monster Douglas Rattmann. A horrible evil monster. Please I beg you, I know you can change. I wasn't wrong, you're still here aren't you? Please. Please Please Oh God."

"You're a test subject. Didn't you read your contract?"

"I…I…There's still time! Doug don't do this, don't don't don't don't. I love Wheatley I always and if this is some kind of…"

Two large men dragged her out of her wheelchair. They were burly muscular men, way too large for one small soft bodied woman to handle on her own.

She was forced onto the metal table as she protested and was cut off when the epidermal needle was forced into her.

* * *

><p>"Interesting."<p>

"What?"

"The Morality core is fully functional. All it's processors are operating at optimal rates." John droned. He was beyond caring by this point.

"Well what's interesting about it?" asked Douglas Rattman.

"It won't talk."


	10. Chapter 10 Tock

**Title**: Tick-Tock

**Rating**: Still A T.

**Warnings/Pairings**: Wheatley/ *spoiler, but not strictly an OC*, Chell/Wheatley, One-sided GLaDOS/Chell Cave/Caroline, Spoilers for Portal 2. This chapter involves a little more sex talk but again it's meant to be funny rather than racy.

**Summary**: Tick: A young man watches as his friends are corrupted in the name of science. Tock: A young woman by the name of Chell brings down the tyrant who destroyed Aperture Science; several hundred years years after it would do any good.

**AN:** Honestly I'd like to give everyone an excuse but even though they are less popular I just love horror more. I like writing things like Night of the Living Wheatley better than this stuff It's the only excuse I have at the end of the day…but yet here we are. Sorry for the wait but I'm going to throw up my hands and shrug

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><p>When he felt he could talk again, Wheatley opened his mouth to warn Chell of GLaDOS' machinations for her. The A.I. had expected him to go along with her plan without question, but Wheatley was resolute in his need to apologize and his resolve that had he ever gotten the chance he would never turn on Chell again.<p>

The moment he opened his mouth, he got out only a single syllable before a white-hot pain ensnared him and the black static associated with a black out flashed around the edges of his vision. He yelled out in order to try and stay awake holding his head. It didn't last long, so cautiously he tried thinking of telling her. Instantly the throb started to build once more and he turned his mind to anything – the fly on the window pane and the feel of the bedsheets. She'd done something to him so he couldn't warn her. She was going to force him to betray her again.

"I'm sorry." He croaked and mentally added: _That__okay__with__you__wretched__old__bat?_

If GLaDOS was in any way mentally linked with him, She didn't respond.

Chell pointed to the picture in the front of the book, which he took with a gasp, his eyes skimming the words quickly. Chell found this surprising, it meant he hadn't been trying to bluff when he said he knew how to read. "You know." He said. "I mean, you know it's me, then, don't you. Wheatley."

Chell nodded.

"I…I'm sorry. For what I tried to do to you." Tears formed in the corners of his eyes and he blinked them back, knowing he was there to do it again and couldn't even stop himself.

It made it worse when she put a hand on his and gave it a pat. The tears leaked over and he sniffed them back with embarrassment, scrubbing at his eyes with the sleeve of his hospital gown.

He closed the book and handed it back over. "I don't want to look at it."

Chell nodded and slid it back into her bag.

The doctor came into the room. "Chell, do you know this man?"

Chell met Wheatley's eyes and took stock of the look in his eyes and the imperceptible shake of his head. She shook her own head more forcefully.

"Do you know your name and where you came from?"

"It's Wh…"

Chell's eyes drifted to the bag hiding the History of Aperture book and also tried to communicate a negative response without being obvious. Fortunately Wheatley correctly interpreted the gesture.

"Harris. I've got no surname…or um, maybe that is my surname, yes. Harris. Just Harris. I come from…England?"

"How did you wind up here?"

"I um, forgot. Yes. That's it. I forgot."

Chell nearly smacked her head into her palm. Wheatley was undoubtedly the worst liar she'd ever seen. The doctor seemed to be preoccupied enough not to notice the shoddiness of the fabrication however.

"We feel you are free to leave Mr. Harris. We have alerted the police to escort you to the station."

Chell froze. The police? Maybe she should have said she did know Wheatley!

Mrs. Lee came to take Chell away, before she could change her mind.

After a terrible but much required meal, Wheatley was deemed free for release. As the patrol car drove down to the station, the officer driving the car spoke to him, safe behind the grill separating the rear of the car from the front seats.

"Well Mr. Harris, we'll do a DNA test to ensure you have no criminal record and then have you sign some papers allowing you to live and work in the community. We'll be placing you in a halfway house for the present but if your psychological condition lives up to expectations, we'll release you. You'll always have more freedom than a criminal on probation however you will be expected to treat your weekly visits pending your release as an inspection from a parole officer. That means everything about your life and your place of residence will be investigated. We will make every effort to help you obtain employment however your boss will be invited to inform us immediately of any activities regarded as suspicious and that individual has the right to do so without informing you first. We will be in touch." He took stock of the expression on Wheatley's face via the rear view mirror and his tone softened a touch. "I'm truly sorry, Mr. Harris. I don't doubt you've had a hard time of things, but this is the way it will have to be."

He had to sit locked in a cold little cell at the station for several hours, his stomach growling and a powerful need to use the restroom gnawing at his insides however he barely registered either. His mind was fixed on Chell and the horrible thing he was expected to do to her, not to mention his inability to warn her. Could he write it down? She might not have thought of that. He shifted closer to the wall and taking his finger, started to ghost write the first letters of her name. Even with no proper pen or ink his efforts were in vain. He got no further than the

'h' before the horrific pain gripped him again. He had to clench his legs together hard to keep from humiliatingly voiding his bowels in his trousers. The realization struck him that no matter what he had to get out of the jail cell, even if he was monitored later. Perhaps at some point he could use the monitoring to his advantage.

His thoughts turned to the events leading up to his imprisonment in the sphere. He had steadily been regaining himself – first basic motor functions, then slowly, even as he had been speaking to Chell, memories. Memories of a dear friend who he now knew had betrayed him, just as he had done to his own dear friend. He put his head in his arms but he couldn't seem to cry.

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><p>Wheatley finally left the station to start his new days at the halfway house. The officer who had driven him home seemed to have felt sorry for him and offered him use of the coffee bar. He drank the beverage quickly but the remainder of the force were more clinical than anything. He was glad to be shot of them.<p>

He arrived at his new digs at the halfway house while the sun was sinking in the sky and the moment he could clear it with the warden he left. After some wonderful freedom of wandering around the town he tucked himself away in the back corner of some dinky diner where he ordered two hamburgers from a perky waitress wearing her hair in thin braids who called herself 'Anne'.

The doctors at the hospital had warned him to limit his diet when he had checked out. Doctor Mitchell, in his opinion could stow it. He hadn't suffered through agonizing years in Aperture experiments being groomed to be the intelligence dampening sphere and all the horrid diets that brought with it.

Wheatley felt his lip curling in disgust at the memory. Intelligence dampener. What a humiliating indecency. He was a little self-deprecating and he knew he'd never had a future in an ivory tower as a professor but he was most certainly not a moron.

Suddenly aware that the horrible mean expression was causing a child and its mother were edging away from him suspiciously, he adjusted his countenance and gave the child a grin that caused it to hide it's face. Wheatley gave a resigned sigh. At least the food was cheap. All the years underground and off the public radar must have amassed interest on the Harris fortune. No smart bank would close the account on that kind of money but not even his morn brain could deny there was also no chance of claiming it. She would probably put a stop to it, even if he could get his mitts on his own cash. Probably by dint of stopping his heart permanently.

He ate swiftly as he was able without really tasting the meal. It was a distinctly unsatisfying experience except to offer him one more issue to concern himself with. He simply paid his tab and left.

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><p>The tepid showers in the common half-way house bathroom helped marginally more to improve his outlook on the world. He took small comfort in the notion that he was allowed a private room with it's own sink at least.<p>

The privacy didn't last of course. A swift rap came at the door.

"Harris?"

He paused before remembering that was his name now. "Yes?"

The door opened before he could even stand. "Hi there. I'm Galen! Galen Newport! So dude, who did you ice to get in here? That's my nickname. Icepick."

At Wheatley's horrified expression Galen backpedaled instantly. "Oh man, I'm sorry! It was just a joke. Kind of. We generally haze the new kids a little and most of them are tough motherfuckers. I didn't think you'd take it so bad. No matter. Most of us here aren't real criminals. Just guys who were in a tight spot or the crazies but they're in the other house. Yeah man. We're just down on our luckers who did stupid shit. Y'know how it…oh wait. You don't. You're Mister Wheat Field! The amnesia guy from the hospital! We all watched that on TV!"

Wheatley sighed. "Yeah that's me. Sorry mate, I know you're giving me the gears. Not in the mood I guess."

Galen nodded but made no move to leave. He walked a little further into the room to lean casually against the wash basin. When Wheatley didn't tell him to piss off he heaved himself up to sit upon it, taking out a package of fags and tamping one out onto his leg. He shook a second out a moment later. Without asking Wheatley if he did or did not smoke he produced a lighter and chain lit the second from the first, handing it over.

Wheatley took it although he never had smoked in his life. He sat there uncharacteristically mute, staring hypnotically at the glowing red cherry and the trail of ash in its wake. The acrid smoke and smell from Galen happily puffing away lanced up against his profile next to the window, almost silver in the gathering twilight and throwing the man into sharp relief. He wasn't really a typical criminal. He was a little too well fed, thin from nicotine over-use he supposed but a little soft in the jowls, hips and thighs.

The man shifted in his (probably) uncomfortable seat. "Me? I'm in here for an addiction. You seem like a guy who can make an addiction work for him." The strange and, to Wheatley's mind rather uncomfortable pronouncement hung in the air as Galen inhaled an obscene quantity of smoke and dusted the ensuing ash into the convenient drain in the sink opposite his leg.

Wheatley wanted to argue against him. Say something like: 'that makes no sense take it back' but all he found himself accomplishing was sitting still and looking at Galen with guilt he hoped didn't register in his eyes. In control of Aperture. Making an addiction (the Itch) work for him. Yeah, he knew he was good at that.

Finally Wheatley found his voice. "Drugs. You do drugs."

"Yeah." Galen said. Wheatley noticed he didn't add his amount of clean time to that assessment. There was no 'three months sober' or 'two years' or 'now it's only grape juice!' to speak of. That detail seemed important. "Yeah I knocked over a Seven-Eleven. Not my finest hour, I'll tell you."

"Right, mate." Wheatley intoned, in an attempt to sound indifferent and save grace. Maybe all this was was a junkie trying to help himself. It sure did not feel like it but he desired nothing more than for Galen to go away. Immediately if not sooner.

"It wasn't grass or coke or anything like that."

Now Wheatley was really worried. This 'confession' wasn't a guilt ridden quasi AA meeting. The other man was meeting his eyes with an angry intensity. The former A.I couldn't help but be morbidly curious and it was for this reason he met the other man's eyes. Wheatley's brain tried to turn on him again. So this man was remorseful. He had bigger problems to deal with than providing one-man group therapy to some drugged up klepto. Especially not when She had power over Chell's future and well-being.

"Look mate, I'm tired. I appreciate the fag and whatnot."

Galen gave the line of ash clinging to the end of the untouched cigarette in Wheatley's clutches a rather withering look. He glanced around.

"The thing is, the stuff I smoked y'know has been stockpiled by my family for generations. A nifty little blend given as hush money to my niece's parents." He glared hard at Wheatley whose expression had slackened. It could not be more obvious that he was listening. Galen took advantage. "Oh I can see you don't care. Guess it's not important to you. Ciao." The man hopped off his perch on the sink, flicked the stub of his cigarette into the toilet and headed for the door. As he left that soft gentle profile was driven into sharp relief by the light of the rising moon. Wheatley did a double take.

No, it was his eyes playing tricks on him. It was hopelessly stupid. Galen's shirt had been open, he'd been wearing flattering (or unflattering as the case may be) men's boxer brief shorts. The resemblance, as Wheatley's mind insisted was a coincidence. The more he thought about Galen's resemblance to Cilla the stupider the idea was. However it was becoming more obvious by the second and more stupid by the seconds of logical thinking.

"Wait…" he said at long last however Galen was gone. Long gone. Wheatley even got up and peered down the hall.

The first proper thought after that he had was 'deadly neurotoxin'.

Wheatley tossed fitfully around at night, trying to escape the truth of the matter. Whatever Galen had been using, whatever he had felt was so desperately important to claim as a drug was neurotoxin.


End file.
